Loch Fyne Seaweed Beacon

Loch Fyne Seaweed Beacon, originally uploaded by escher is still alive.

This spring seems to be passing me by but if you were to follow the seasons purely on the weather you experience, you would think summer has been and gone and autumn was well underway.

Our weather has been really weird. In April we had two solid weeks of hot and sunny weather, even here in the North west of England and in Scotland too. Two places known for excessive precipitation. Around here, if you fancy getting wet, just wait a while and a rain cloud will grant your wish.

Shortly afterwards it clouded over and rained, and rained, and rained some more. When it wasn't raining it was windy and when it was raining it was even windier. And yet the rest of the country was dry, very dry indeed.

Fruit crops harvested early and two words that often don't go into a sentence together suddenly did. "British wine" doesn't sound right unless you slip the phrase 'people drinking' into the middle but nevertheless in the South the optimum conditions are prevailing to add the word 'quality' into it instead. It seems our weather is changing or at least is altering its regular pattern at least from my short sighted point of view. I can only see things from day to day. I'm not a glacier nor an oak tree so I see simply from the perspective of an organism where an hour feels like quite a long time and a second a fleeting moment. I expect a tree would see things quite differently and a fly would perceive differently again.

A phrase that is phonetically identical is something us Brits do excel at and I warn you I am about to have a 'quality British whine' myself. It probably isn't going to be fun to read or something you would want to listen to but I feel the need to offload in any case.

Sometimes things that you'd rather not be doing take up all of your time, they eat you up and spit you and out and leave nothing left for the scavengers. My get up and go got up and went and I have little or nothing left for anything else except work.

Working weekends, long hours and feeling like I am always on duty has meant I have no energy. There's none left to create anything but also what has evaporated with the tiredness, is any concern that that creative energy is gone. A burning desire to create but no time with which to do so, well that is one thing, but no desire, no time and no energy is another thing altogether. And it's got me thinking...

An animal's natural life span is preordained by a number of heartbeats. The avian, amphibian, reptilian, mammalian and piscine heart will beat 1 billion times before you become toast for someone's breakfast. The speed your heart beats dictates how long you will live. To our eyes a mouse lives at hyperspeed and to it we must be moving in slow motion. Each of our metabolisms dictate how we view our world. As human beings we are fixed to perceive our universe how our physiologies constrain and instruct us. Our world may be full of ideas and dreams and fantastical stories but ultimately only make sense to us because we share a particular way of being. These things may never make sense to something outside of our time, to a fly or to a tree. Whether we like it or not our dreams may transcend this physical plane but our cellular construction root us to what we are. Well at least that's how I see it when I turn inside out to look inwards but many a gifted philosopher will have pondered this conundrum and revealed more hidden truths of humanity than I ever will.

So what of energy, essence and vitality amongst all this?

Being tired and lacking in oomph has made me wonder whether we are born with a box full of energy, just like the heart we are issued with comes with a guarantee of 'good for a billion beats.'

In my dreams I always see myself able to achieve anything, be anyone and cram all those any's into just one day. But when I try I always get much less done, achieve much less, become much less than those high ideals in my dreams. I look at some people and think "where do they get their energy?" How can someone bring up three kids, work all day, study for a degree in the evening and not disappear into a puff of smoke?

I can always use less energy than my maximum but I've never been able to create more. It seems to be pretty fixed and whatever I try I seem to be able to do only so much. And when the needle reaches 'too much' my body retreats not always with my mind tagging along, and it wants to sleep or switch off or do nothing at all. But my ideas want more, and despite their constant high ideals and nagging for more, my energy box seems to decide how much I have and the cabling only allows a certain current to pass through. I'm fitted with a 60 watt bulb which is plenty to be able to see and read and do all the things someone may want to, but pulling off Pink Floyd's laser light show with a single 60 watt bulb just ain't going to happen despite my mind going supernova at the prospect. What my mind wants my body tries to deliver but it needs to be treated fairly. It needs to work regular hours, have regular tea breaks and pay into a pension plan. There's no point for boss brain to demand the application of an Olympic athlete when the staff pool only has 5 mile fun runners available.

So that's what I've been pondering: are we hard wired to have a certain amount of energy? Are high-flyers full to the brim and preordained to fly high? Perhaps, if true, the answer is, is not to emulate those high flyers but instead to realise how full your energy box is and use that energy only for what you wish to and don't waste it on soul-less energy sapping fripperies.

I guess the real question that needs answering is how to do this while still paying the rent?

Back in mid April when it was high summer I managed a few days away from work to visit a little bit of Scotland. Sometimes things all slot into place and a last minute decision to go somewhere different when only a few minutes from our destination resulted in a trip with each slot slotted.

A wild camp next to a sea loch, sunshine and lapping water rested our souls, and brought calm and peace to all around. Wild dolphins and seals in the water, bobbing, playing and enjoying life. Those moments when time changes, you forget which day it is and don't care whether tomorrow comes tomorrow or in a week's time instead. Pure magic in an experience that lives on and long in the memory.

It took a while for the creativity to kick start, enough for it to get me up from lazing on the beach, letting the ambience lap over me like the salty water of the loch.

Land art is a way of seeing, just like swimming or walking are. If you swim in a river you feel the water, change your perspective and accentuate what you know and what you are. If you walk up a mountain you change rhythms and sense the world anew through your feet.

Land art is at its most challenging in an unfamiliar place. When the materials are foreign and the locations unknown, the time it takes to reveal the essence of those things can be very long and distinctly unguaranteed. Firstly it takes time and concentration to see the nuances of that environment and much more time to conjure up ideas how to reveal those discoveries in a sculpture. With leaves I've spent enough time with them to know what construction techniques I can use to display and reveal their inner properties but with unfamiliar materials I need to fathom out new and different ways to show off what I have discovered.

Its hard, then, to be accomplished, to live up to your own standards, and produce something as intricate and complex as I'd like. But where the process is challenging it is also most rewarding too. It all lies in discovering new things, in learning about something and somewhere when you wouldn't have if you hadn't spent the time.

As I combed up and down the beach I noticed garlands of seaweed, dried and hanging down from washed up driftwood, left high and dry on the edge of the high tide mark. The sun shone strongly through it and it was bright crimson in colour. This triggered me to look at the other seaweed and inspect the colours I might find.

After a break for tea I found a bit of this red seaweed floating in the bottom of the cup, as I'd already drunk it I couldn't spit it out so I had to settle with the idea that the dried hard seaweed had started to soften in the liquid. I could find four colours there, yellow, orange, red and green and all the hues in between, each in a different state of dryness, flexibility and robustness. I tried all I could think off with each coloured material to attempt to bring them all together. Cutting, soaking, drying, sticking together, pulling apart, stripping, twisting, tying together. What I learnt then about all the different types of seaweed on that beach was fascinating. The variety and intricacy of each, and how they changed depending on the height up the beach they were. For me that is the essence of land art but time was quickly passing and soaking and drying seaweed takes more time than I had so this sculpture was not going to culminate into something that would reveal everything I had learnt.

So instead of something that took all those colours of seaweed, I took one single variety and attempted to reveal its properties alone. By attaching them to a large piece of driftwood and backlighting them with the strong, early spring sun I hoped to leave a beacon at that place. A beacon that would signal to the dolphins and seals a truth they already know. That our world is infinite and intricate and interconnected and everyrthing has its very own beauty within, if only we would stop and take the time to look.

Loch Fyne Seaweed Beacon, originally uploaded by escher is still alive.

Aura Leaf

Aura Leaf, originally uploaded by escher (spring is here).

A Mirbeck's Oak leaf surrounded by thin layers of Paper Birch bark, one white, one orange and positioned to catch the last red rays of the setting winter sun.

I made this back in January and this sculpture has become the cover for my new book Flux. You can read about it here.

Sometimes land art comes easy and sometimes you have to put the work in. I didn't really have any idea what I would do when I arrived in the wood (but that is hardly unusual) so I kept warm by wandering around inspecting the twisted oaks, looking for the right spot to make something. Often this is where the inspiration will come from. A shape, a colour, a particular place, something will trigger an idea. I found a dead branch with a perfectly formed zig-zag that would be perfect to attach leaves to, to make an abstract tree whilst the real ones surrounding it laid dormant waiting for the spring.

I had found some nice, thin layers of Paper Birch bark earlier, translucent and glowing when held up to the light. So I decided to layer them onto oak leaves to see if the light would catch the edges.

I made seven of these layered leaves and attached them with thorns to the dead branch to create a surreal, abstract, electric tree. But one of those leaves was more shapely and brighter than the rest. The layer of white bark was almost perfect and didn't have any lentincels lentincels to break up the colour, so it appeared to be pure white, like paper. The orange layer was very similar. Since making that leaf I have searched and searched and searched for more bark with unbroken colour. I have not found a single piece such as that first one and at that time, luck would have it, that I had attached the best bark to the best leaf and put that leaf at the top of my abstract tree. The other leaves were not the same, the colours not as strong and the graphic representation not as striking.

I only found this out after a few hours spent freezing my brass monkeys off. The air was cold and frosty (this was back in January) and the wind strong and cut right through to the bone. I cocooned myself in my bivvy bag to try and retain some warmth, the nylon flapping around my face, my breath condensing on it making me damp and colder all over. To try and wake my bum from its slumber and to keep the rest of me from freezing solid I had to jump up and run around every ten minutes to get my, now thickening blood, to take warmth back down to my extremities. But, nevertheless, I cowered back under my bivvy bag, back on my perch on the rock to fashion more pieces of bark and pin them to another leaf.

It would be times like that that I question my sanity. It isn't like I know whether what I am doing will turn out any good or not but despite all that I seemed to carry on. I still don't know why I do, when I do, but I guess the times when I have given up have nothing to remember them by so I am glad that I can be persistent some of the time.

Anyway, when I got home to look at the pictures of my Aura Tree. I saw the leaf sitting on top and was taken by its form and colour. The low winter sun was strongly red and brought out the most amazing colours from the bark. So I went back the next evening to find that leaf and to single it out for a photo shoot all of its own. The golden hour, that evening, went through every hue of gold, orange, purple and red and lit up that leaf and its bark as though it was on fire, or painted or somehow made in a computer program.

I've not found a leaf or a bit of bark like it since. Everything came together to make it all that it could be without any volition from me. Sometimes land art is like that, just like moments in life can be. All the elements slot together to make your experience timeless and special, whether or not you are freezing your butt off wrapped up in giant plastic bag!

This sculpture became the cover for my all new book Flux, none of its contents ever seen before in print. You can read all about it here.

New Book: Flux

New Book: Flux, originally uploaded by escher (spring is here).

Via Flickr:
I've been holding back many of my images, including quite a few of my best and most recent sculptures. I'd been experimenting, trying new things, new materials, new ideas and I've put these all together into my new book entitled Flux. None of the photos have been published in print before and 101 of them have never been seen in print or online.

Flux has:-

257 Photos
160 Pages
101 New Unseen Photos
12 New Unseen Sculptures

I've just spent a fabulous few days in Scotland where I was very lucky to see wild Dolphins and Seals swimming in Loch Fyne and a Red Squirrel in a tree next to where my tent was pitched. All exciting firsts for me and it has really opened my eyes to the wonders of Scotland. The joy of nature just makes my soul sing, there is nothing more I need to feel content with myself and the world.

I made some sculptures whilst I was there but the virus I've had for nearly a month is clinging on by its fingernails, lingering much longer than it should. And it means I am lacking the energy to show you those, just now, and to tell you about the fun and adventures I had. So I thought I would tell you about my new book today and save my tale of Scotland and the accompanying sculptures for another day.

Thanks for stopping by!

Ps. Carry on to the next pictures and I'll tell you a little about the cover photograph. It may look drawn or painted by it is not and the colours are real too.

Aura Leaf, originally uploaded by escher (spring is here).

Aura Leaf, originally uploaded by escher (spring is here).

Tree of Life

Tree of Life, originally uploaded by escher (spring is here).

It's late and it's time to relax so I can only spend a little time recapping my last few weeks and tell you about things I've never seen before...

I saw a bat flying and feeding in broad daylight... Never seen that before...

I saw an Apache Gunship flying only a few feet above the trees in Lancaster... Never seen that before...

I saw a ewe give birth to two lambs... Never seen that before...

Warm sunshine on Easter bank holiday... Never, ever seen that before...

It's really warm and it feels like summer rather than spring.

Although the oak leaves are only just appearing and there are Bluebells, Wood Sorrel and Primroses carpeting the woodland floor everything else feels much farther on. The birds are singing like its mid June and the weeds are growing like they know it is all they have to do.

Finally everything grows and my pallette is enriched once again.

Oh boy, I love the spring. There is nothing quite like it...

Tree of Life, originally uploaded by escher (spring is here).

...It's Here...

...It's Here..., originally uploaded by escher (spring is here).

Dandelion Sun

Dandelion Sun, originally uploaded by escher (spring is here).

I remember the day, a couple of weeks ago, when I saw the first Dandelions of spring. On a half hour run I saw four and knew within a few days they would be everywhere. I collected all of these in a 100 metre radius and only picked a small proportion of what was there.

They are so bright and ubiquitous that I just have to make something with them at this time of year, despite the fact that it will take weeks now, to remove the stains from my hands.

It is so warm today it feels like mid summer, I don't recollect such balmy temperatures in April. But I do remember early spring colds and I have one now and feel pretty bushed from todays endeavours.

There is already so much life growing everywhere, even though there are hardly any leaves on the trees. When the weather is like this, sunny and warm, you think it'll last forever. But when the rain and wind return, as inevitably they will, I'll remember how damn cold it can be in April and think back to the warmth while I made this Dandelion Sun.

A lemsip and early to bed, with the hope that tomorrow is also a sunshine filled day.

Flux is coming soon...

Dandelion Sun, originally uploaded by escher (spring is here).

C o m i n g S o o n . . .

C o m i n g S o o n . . ., originally uploaded by escher (spring is coming).

3 Flower Flags for Spring

3 Flower Flags for Spring, originally uploaded by escher (spring is coming).

The sun is shining and it is a wonderful, early spring day.

Should I sit indoors and write a story? Errm, nope!

I'm off out for a frolic, the story will have to wait for another day!

Laters!....

3 Flower Flags for Spring, originally uploaded by escher (spring is coming).

Spring Revolution ~ Liberation

Spring Revolution ~ Liberation, originally uploaded by escher (spring is coming).

Not so many years ago the human world changed. It changed for you and it changed for me. It changed for almost everyone.

Individuals, throughout the world, quite suddenly had a way to take a step into the outside world.

Warhol predicted it in the sixties. Everyone would have their 15 minutes of fame. Perhaps we didn't understand his message, or he got it slightly wrong but each of our fifteen minutes consist of a blog, a flickr stream, a facebook page, a tweet, a digg, a viral video. So many of us who would have never got to bare our souls, or to connect and meet in our virtual would, are able to do that every single day.

The compassion, the creativity, the connections we can make, the internet has made this all possible. Of course it is not all good, nothing in human endeavour ever is but where it is good it is very, very good.

As a species we are more alike than we are different, and the ordinary people that inhabit this planet just wish to get on with their lives in peace and freedom.

The threads of this have been spreading like a mycellium, unseen by the overlords, a creeping network connecting the like-minded.

Things were about to change...

Tragically and symbolically the flame that ignited the fire was the plight of a poor man in Tunisia. A man who couldn't even live his life in dignity and in utter desperation he burned himself to death.

This became the catalyst for disaffected youth across the region. Already they had been talking of the future they desired and were organising themselves into active groups. But now, with the desperate actions of Mohamed Bouazizi in Tunusia and his brutal death at his own hands, an idea spread through the collective unconscious "if he can lay his life down for us, then what can we do?"

And this is how revolution begins. The people lose their fear and one more day of repression is too high a price to pay. Ordinary people become willing to lay down their lives so that others can live in freedom.

One must have a heart of stone not to feel profoundly moved by the images on our TV sets and the passion and joy of the voices of unified, down-trodden peoples. To see them risk all to be free after so many years of brutal oppression brings home what a cossetted and privileged life we lead in the free world. Can we truly understand what it means to be free if we have not had to live under the rule of some psychopathic nutter or another? I guess we are lucky not to have to know what we take for granted.

First the Tunisians, then the Egyptians and now the Libyans. I can only sit back in awe and total admiration to witness their utter bravery. I don't think I would have the moral courage to do what they are doing, in fact I know I wouldn't. In the face of utter terror and brutality, they continue to make their stand. Godspeed to them all.

I just wish that any and all oppressed peoples throughout the Middle East, the Bahrainis, Saudis, Syrians, Iranians and everyone else can find their liberation too. Everyone on this planet deserves to live in peace and freedom. I also wish that we in the free West find the moral courage to do the right thing by these people and stop selling arms to oppressive regimes and propping up whomever suits our aims in the so-called name of "stability" or too feed our addiction to oil. I count myself in that too.

So what of land art amongst all these things? Well, spring is an auspicious time. Something stirs within us all
. It is in our genetic makeups, deep within our souls. We are creatures of nature and all born of this shared planet.

That may be why spring is the season of revolution. The French and Russian revolutions began in spring. Czechoslovakia began a period of liberalisation in 1968, known as the Prague spring. The fall of the Eastern bloc begun in autumn 1988 but gathered apace in the spring of 1989 when Solidarity was made legal in Poland in April and they won an overwhelming 99% of seats in the parliamentary elections. And there are many more too.

I am touched deeply by spring as I am sure all that are experiencing it right now, are too. I am also deeply touched by the struggle and bravery of the people of the Middle East. The internet is an example and a symbol combined, of the power of the interconnectedness of all things. Where oppression and brutality seek to divide and conquer. The seasons, the natural world and the power of information and communication brings us all back together again.

Spring Revolution ~ Liberation, originally uploaded by escher (spring is coming).

Tendrils for Spring

Tendrils for Spring, originally uploaded by escher (hibernating)....

I thought it would be a good idea to laze about in bed this morning so that I could make my land art excursion even more frantic than usual. The weather people had said that the sun would come out today. I am sure it was up the somewhere but there was still a blanket of cloud between me and it. I suppose I could grow really tall and go find it but it might just be easier to wait for the clouds to clear.

I've been reading a book at Meso-American art, it's been a long time interest of mine, and my mind was full of the ancient peoples icons and designs. As I ran about getting together my camera gear I started to think about what I read about the Olmecs and the way they depict clouds and smoke. I really liked how they did this and thought, that perhaps today I would incorporate some of that into what I would do.

The components I would need would be mud, bark and stone. Now how could I make this much more difficult than it needed to be?

First the stone. I would need a slab and my favourites are nowhere near the mud. Off I trudged with my 80 litre rucksack to select a shapely stone. And I would most definitely need to make sure it was damn heavy. That would come in handy later. As I looked through the slabs of stone I tried to imagine in my minds eye how the design would fit onto each one. None of them looked right but I selected one anyway and then tried to carry it back down the hill. Where's Fred Flinstone when you need him.

Even though it had rained all night I thought it was a good idea to wear cotton trousers and leaky trainers. When I finally got back to the car I was quite a sight. Pink faced and sweaty, my trousers wet-through from the knees down so that they looked like I had two colour trews on. My trainers weren't left out, they squeaked as though they enjoyed the moistness.

It was several miles to destination mud and it was also on the other side of a river. I had forgotten my wellies again, so I convinced myself that my day would truly be land art rich, as I would need to ford the river without any shoes. Grrr, and mountaineers think they're tough.

The place we were going to go after collecting, was yet another few miles away but at this rate we weren't going to finish until midnight and at least a little daylight is helpful with photography. So against my best of intentions I relented and went home to get the aforementioned wellingtons and instead would make something where the mud was. Of course, I would have much rather had waded across in bare feet and been soggy most of the day but sometimes circumstances go against you and you just have to be warm and happy all day. Ho-hum, maybe next time.

The river was quite high and the water very cold. "Damn you" I said to my wellies, "am I going to be doomed to this cosy life?" How I wished that I could feel the icey water through my toes and the delicious, accompanying pain. I sat down and drank my freshly brewed tea that seconds earlier had sat atop my camping stove and looked with disdain at my sandwich. Just what had happened to me? Where had those days gone where I felt weak from the bloodloss to midges or I had to snap off my own frostbitten toes. One must suffer for one's art and this sandwich, though delicious, wasn't helping.

I was soon up to my elbows in mud and searching for slivers of paper birch and in a flash (well an hour or two really) I was done with the Olmec inspired design. Is it the first tendrils of spring or the wisps of smoke from a fire?

Birch bark glows in the sun, so I scanned all around for a tree upon which I could position my slab. There was one nearby but on this side of the river so I dashed over to it carrying the slab.I soon realised this wasn't such a good idea. The slab weighed a ton and as it was covered in dark mud, I couldn't rest it against me and had to take all the weight on my arms. Between me and the tree was a bog and I very nearly catapulted over as my wellies went several inches in. I carried on regardless and muttered to myself "cripes this is heavy." Just as I got to the tree the sun went in again and my bog trotting, slab dash suddenly seemed as mad as it must have appeared to someone watching.

The next trick would have to be trying to wobble across the river carrying the slab, the trick being not to fall in. Fortunately the level had dropped a bit so it was easier but I still let in some over the top of my wellies. All that was left was to find a magnificent tree and in this particular place that's as easy as falling off a log.

I made this sculpture yesterday and the above is the account from then. I had left it propped up against a magnificent beech tree next to the road through the Trough of Bowland. I went back again today to see what had happened to it. The overnight rain had smeared itself across the surface but it was pretty much intact. I wonder whether anyone had noticed it, as it is easily visible if going past there, or better yet if someone had got out of their vehicle to take a look. I hope that it stays dry for a while as I'd like to go back to see how it changes, dries and cracks up. If it survives that long.

AN APPEAL

I am on the lookout for some particular plants and trees so if there are any locals who can help I'd be most grateful. Paper Birch is the first, I know of four trees but would like to find more. Anyone have any ideas? And lastly different varieties of Dogwood. I can find the green and red varieties but I am also looking for the yellow and orange, anyone know of any in north Lancashire. Cheers for any replies.

Tendrils for Spring, originally uploaded by escher (hibernating)....

Holly Leaf Sun Star

Holly Leaf Sun Star, originally uploaded by escher (hibernating)....

The first shoots of spring are poking through the soft earth and the sun is beginning to strengthen and the days starting to lengthen.

There really isn't a more special time of year, the air is different, the light is different, the feeling inside is different. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, like a tickle that brings a smile.

Despite our modern trappings, we are natural creatures at the mercy of natural cycles. You can hide from them behind dark glasses but the spring light will find its way around the sides of the frames. You can't ignore it, your insides want to do a jig. Unless it's raining of course, then you'll think "bloody winter, when is spring coming?!"

Well, here's my contribution for those with a sunny disposition and those without. A holly leaf sun clock, forever ticking as the cusp of a season is reached. As the globe tilts once again and our corner of the planet is bathed in lengthening light, the sun will awaken the earth and the waiting seeds within.

Well that's all very lyrical and all that, innit. But what of really clever and deep artistic things.

Art attempts to peel back the layers and reveal something unseen. I and a myriad of other artists are trying to uncover and answer all the important questions facing mankind:-

- Why will you spend ten minutes looking for the TV remote when it'll take you 10 seconds to get off your sorry arse and switch it over the old way?

- Why when someone says "say when" do we say 'when'?

- Why are lost things always in the last place you look?

- Why when the hoover won't suck something up do you pick it up and look at it, put it back on the floor and insist that it really does suck it up by running over it again and again?

- Why do we say things like "cor, the sun's really bright"?

- Why do all phone numbers in films start with 555?

I'll admit I am exhausted thinking about all these profundities. It's not all pretty leaves, sunshine and spring lambs in fields you know. It's bloody hard work and I am going stand here with my arms folded until you bloomin' well appreciate the hassles I have to go through.

Wibbly, wobbly, wibbly, wobbly (bear with me, that's a flashback TV effect, I'll have you know).

I went again to the David Nash exhibition, at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, this week. And inspiring is not the word. Such evident skill and life in his sculptures, I was absolutely enthralled. I feel like branching out into living sculptures. Watch this space.

I pondered on making something at the Sculpture Park, but didn't take anything with me so that I could. When we arrived at the car park I kicked myself, as the most amazing yellow and orange dogwood was growing between all the rows. The colours were so vibrant and strong that I immediately wanted to make something but couldn't. After re-experiencing the Underground Gallery and the texture and smell of the wood, the incredible sculpting skills of Mr Nash and a pounding heart and mind we stepped out into the fresh air to be greeted by warming sunshine. In front of us was a Holly tree, which for some reason was almost entirely yellow and pale green. With the sun shining through it, it was quite a sight and not one I had seen before. I just had to collect some of its leaves, to take home to use later.

On the day after that visit and a long day at work, I quickly made a circle from Dogwood, as mess about doodle and assembled twelve leaves onto its circumference, one for each hour of half a day. The sun was needed to finish it off so I waited until today to find it.

This wasn't the main thing I made today but as I needed to wait for the sun to make an appearance I took it along with me to photograph it. Sounds like an easy job but the clouds were not playing ball. The sun would only come out for two minutes, not long enough to set it up, point the camera in the right place and get a photo. Fortunately with more daylight to play with I had longer to get it in the can.

I am waiting to show you what else I made today, as I have left it at a popular beauty spot near Lancaster. It is easily visible from the road so I'll be interested to see if anyone chances upon it. That said, it being a beauty spot, it is also popular with people who like to leave drinks cans, smash bottles and create fires. So when I do go back there, myself, I expect it to have "Barry woz 'ere" scrawled across it or for it to wear a take away pizza box as a hat. After all, everyone's a critic.

Holly Leaf Sun Star, originally uploaded by escher (hibernating)....

The Magic Power of "Land Art Beard"

The Magic Power of "Land Art Beard", originally uploaded by escher (hibernating)....

There I was minding my own business, playing around with circles of paper birch, only for JRT Pickle to emerge from behind a tree with a pile of frosted-up and clumped-together, forest-floor leaves.

Instantly embued with the eye of an artist/silliness of a five-year-old (delete as applicable), I immediately exclaimed "land art beard!" Like you do.

The wearing of a beard transforms the wearer's mind into that of a philosopher, expertly portrayed here by JRT Pickle's display of pondering. You can see in her eyes the weight of the world as she contemplates the universe's difficult and unanswered questions. If this photo was audible you would hear her utter a simple "errr-hmmmmmmm."

To witness the power of 'land art beard' was now not enough. To be in the presence of such an advanced thinker, left me with only one option. I would have to ponder from behind my own beard.

As I entered into a state of bliss, the world and my mind became one. Involuntary words spilled from my throat and I chanted "land art beard, land art beard, LAND ART BEARD!" As the ancient shamanic ritual took hold, 8 inches of bark beard descended from my chin.

The transformation was nearly complete, my body spasmed, contorted and twisted until finally the fabled 'Finger of Wisdom' emerged from the centre of my chest! It completed the circuit as the 'Finger of Wisdom' joined up with bottom of the beard of bark. At that moment there was a powerful flash and then it went absolutely pitch dark.

Slowly the world began to return. Like a tiny bulb warming and glowing, until I find myself sitting here writing these words.

"Oh trees, all you big and little ones, dumpy, spiky, shapely and runty. Oh trees, with your tendency to litter up the place in autumn and to fall on people when it's windy. Oh trees, you are so big and great and tall and stuff and pretty good at growing conkers, Oh trees, you help us out with Christmas and with growing fruit and much more besides. Oh trees, you are all pretty cool and I thought you might want to know."

Made by Julia Brooklyn and Richard Shilling for the Land Art Connections January group theme "Tree - Honour"

Behold the "Finger of Wisdom"

Melted Ice Imprint

Melted Ice Imprint, originally uploaded by escher (hibernating)....

What's art about if it isn't about learning something? Well I learnt something. Several things actually. Will I use what I've learnt to grow and become wiser? That seems unlikely. So what did I learn?

1) Ice is very cold.

2) Icy water feels even colder.

3) Even kneeling on ice might not spread your weight enough to prevent it cracking.

4) Don't ever admit to doing something stupid. Especially not on the internet. You'll never know who might read it.

I've resigned myself to the fact that I won't ever feel confident enough in my creativity to know what it is I will make ahead of time, and I won't know how, whatever it is, will turn out. It was never an issue when noone ever saw what I make but now, a little self doubt lurks in the back of my mind, that I must make something interesting otherwise I shouldn't have bothered. Often, as I wander around some wild place somewhere (no not a bar in Blackpool on a Saturday night), I am thinking about future land art projects and the potential of different places. But always lurking there is the thought that it better be good when I get round to doing it.

On the face of it, this voice at the back of the room would seem to be a help, always encouraging me to try harder. But the weird thing is, this voice actually seems to be a hindrance. There is a subtle but important difference between "it better be good" and "I wonder if it'll be any good?"

When I listen to those words it seems to be an extra burden, a burden that makes it harder to tap into any creativity. I have no idea what creativity actually is, where it lives or how it operates. But what I do know is that you can plug into it directly if you would just relax and go with the flow. A sense of expectation of how something should be, how it ought to be, if only you tried hard enough is not where it's at. I think this is what I love about land art. As I start, the distractions, the so called "encouraging" voices just fade away and all that matters is the moment. And when enough moments join together, I often end up exactly where I wanted to be had I been thinking about it in the first place. I've said it before but it seems it is a hard lesson to learn. It's about the doing. The thinking, the planning, the expectations. None of this really helps.

So I set off, the frost crunching under my feet and doubting/encouraging voices in my head struggling to help me think of what I could do. I went to a small pool of dark water and tried to chop out some ice. Fun though that was, it didn't inspire me, so I continued to trudge up the hill. On the slopes either side of me, camo jacketed plonkers with shotguns and dogs attempted to shoot, stupid and inbred pheasants. A fitting challenge for the Saturday shotgun warriors. We haven't quite gone to the lengths of fencing in animals for rich (and fat) obnoxious clients to shoot but it isn't far off.

Now don't get me wrong, I am not hypocritical enough to suggest that shooting is completely wrong. I could only occupy the moral highground if I didn't eat industrially farmed animals and didn't ignore the fact that I couldn't kill, what I eat, myself. But I do wonder at the mentality of people who shoot animals for a hobby, as a way to relax, to let off steam on a Saturday morning. Does it make you feel manly to outwit a pheasant with a bunch of beaters, dogs and high powered weaponry? Is it simply target practice and honing a skill?

I always wonder whether they have something missing in their lives and their neuroses drive them to show off, inaudibly shouting "look at me, look at me, LOOK AT ME! I'm really, really important! I demand your attention!" Because what seems to be common amongst this activities is noise. Lots of it and the seemingly willfull need to pee off as many people as possible. Especially people who like peace and quiet!

How many examples can you think of? Here's a few for starters: riding big, powerful motorbikes around country lanes in the summer, riding jet skis across lakes and off shore, off roading on green lanes and shooting things for fun. Why oh why do all these things have to be so loud? And why do you have to do them in beautiful and quiet places and spoil the peace and quiet for so many others? Are you so lacking in empathy that you have no idea how you are spoiling it for everyone else? Or do you have a pathological need to take over places and claim them as yours to make up for your inadaquecies? I think this is one of the biggest splits in our species. The sensitive and the not sensitive. The noisy and the quiet. The considerate and inconsiderate.

So the soundtrack to my sculpturing went like this "hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" As the beaters flushed the doomed birds from the undergrowth and "KABOOM! KABOOM!" as another pheasant bit the dust. I expect that if I ever go mad that that will be the soundtrack to my insanity too. I wanted to stand on a rock and shout out "shut the hell up you noisy idiots!" to try and get rid of my frustrated feeling. But I don't think they were going to see the error of their ways so I went back to what I was doing with the frustrated feeling still present.

So what was a I doing I hear you ask?

A bank of fog was sliding in from the south, leaving the tips of the mountains poking through the sea of moisture. Unusually for an inversion, a layer of cloud lay above us too (me and the mountains) and gradually the temperature began to warm.

On another small dark pool I begun to lay out sections of frosted bracken, to make a pattern on the ice. When I leant back I noticed I had left hand prints where my body heat had melted the surface and I liked them and decided to do something along those lines instead. On all fours, I kneeled on the ice, positioning my hands to make prints in the surface, when suddenly cracks spread across the surface like fractured glass and I was about to become more acquainted with this medium than I originally planned. I had one of those Wiley Coyote moments like when he ran over the cliffs edge, only to be found pedalling in mid air. Just for a splity second gravity did not grab me and then all at once the icey water and me became intimate. I managed to extricate myself after immersing only one leg and fortunately I was wearing two pairs of trousers for warmth and had some spare socks, so pretty quickly I was dry again. I smirked to myself at being such a fool but soon found that the broken ice was fantastically clear and square edged so my foolishness had served a purpose and revealed to me the beauty of this ice.

I took a section and rounded the edges before trying to melt my hand print into it. I could only manage a little at a time before I had to rewarm my hand, so I challenged myself to count to fifty before I would put on a glove to warm up, only to try and melt some more for another count to fifty.

As the handprint begun to form I started to think about how I would be able to photograph it. The imprint was like a ghost, difficult to pin down, like a fleeting image in the corner of your eye. I put the ice back in the water but the image disappeared so I went searching for another way.

I found a slab with thick frost on it, so I melted another handprint onto it and placed the ice on top, in an effort to put a black background behind the imprint. This didn't work either. I then picked some holly berries thinking that I would squish them up and fill in the mould but that was also a failure. And then it dawned on me, bubbles underwater are very bright, especially against the dark, peaty water!

I went back to the little pool and to its twin with the unbroken ice. I put my handprint on top of it, face down so that air would be trapped and then started to ladle (I didn't actually use a ladle - who carries around a ladle?!) water from the broken pool onto the ice of the intact one. Soon effect was working and I had learnt something new about contrast and ice.

After taking some more pictures of it set against the sky, I collected my gear and head off downhill. The cretins were still shooting at anything that moved and the irritation at the noisy buggers still dwelled in the pit of my stomach.

At the bottom of the hill I sat and watched two Buzzards sitting in adjacent trees, one of which kept calling and flying to the other one, perhaps with spring on her mind. For a few minutes I watched transfixed and thought what magnificent creatures they were. As I set off again towards home I noticed that the feeling in my stomach had gone and a few quiet moments observing the wonder of nature had calmed and comforted me. That is all that is required for peace. An open mind and a moment to fill it. Perhaps the Saturday shotgunners should try it one day. They might actually like it and discover that there is another way.

Melted Ice Imprint, originally uploaded by escher (hibernating)....

Melted Ice Imprint, originally uploaded by escher (hibernating)....

The sun was in in the top shot and out in the second. The light changes the texture as well as the colour and reflection.

Melted Ice Imprint, originally uploaded by escher (hibernating)....